Karen: A Beginning
by Miss Fuu Hououji
Summary: Karen Brewer, Kristy's younger stepsister, and how she deals with her problems in eighth grade. Chapter 5 is now up.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own The Babysitters Club or Baby-Sitters Little Sister. I was just browsing the section and didn't see any stories about Karen, so I decided to begin my own. Besides, I liked her books better than their older counterparts. By the way, I realize that throughout the series, Ms. Ann M. Martin made many changes concerning the characters' locations, family situations, and all that junk. I stayed with the general plot of the first, I don't know, 60 or 70 books. Also, a biggish change I made is Karen's age. In the book, she skipped kindergarten to 1st grade in the same year. I'm going to spare the inconvenience and make her the same age as everybody else. Oh, and last but not least, if you're going to review please don't flame me for the personality changes. People change between the ages of seven and thirteen after all.   
  
***  
  
Summary: Karen is now in eighth grade. Everything is rapidly changing around her...will she survive?  
  
***  
  
"Karen!"   
My mind snapped back into reality.  
"What?" I asked, a bit irritably. Hannie had just wrecked my train of thought. It really annoys me when people do that. Hannie obviously didn't realize how crabby I felt.  
"Do you think I'll look better in this or this?" She held out two peasant tops, lavender and peach. I couldn't care less which top she picked, but I was feeling generous.  
"Um...lavender." Hannie seemed disappointed at my answer.   
"Really? I thought peach would blend with my skin tone better..."   
"Hannie, why don't you just buy both?"  
She shrugged and bought the peach one.   
  
We walked out of Juxtapose and sat on a nearby bench. Saturday shoppers and mall kids passed us by, wondering why Hannie and I were even associating with each other. Hannie put on some lip gloss that reeked of fruit. I looked over and saw it was called Funky Strawberry-Melon. I started to wonder who in the hell came up with these flavors when Hannie spoke.   
"So, how's things with Rick?"  
She was reffering to my boyfriend, the guy I've been "married" to since second grade. The one I affectionally call Ricky even though he broke away from the childhood name in fifth grade. You probably don't know what I mean by "married". Well, it started when Hannie got "engaged" with our neighbor, Scott Hsu. They had a pretend marriage and Ricky and I followed their footsteps. I remember that Monday in February quite clearly.  
"You know, same ol'."  
"Been on any dates lately?"  
"Sure, we went to the park, re-evaluated our existence, and decided to make a franchise out of sporks."  
"Seriously, Karen!"   
I found my joke kind of amusing, but nevertheless.  
"Fine, we went to the movies last weekend."  
"Really? Which one?"  
"Uh, Dead Monstrosities."  
"Oh, cool," she said unenthusiastically.   
"How's things with Scott?" She beamed with the sound of that question.  
"Great! He bought me the most beautiful necklace for our sixth anniversary. It was silver with faux topaz that totally matches my eyes..." She stared into space dreamily. "I'm going to wear it on every date and anniversary from now on," she added.  
"Cool," I said in a half-interested tone.  
"Has Rick ever given you anything?"  
"Sure."  
"What?"  
"Well, gumball machine rings. I keep them in my jewelry box." Hannie's smile collapsed.  
"Gumball rings?"   
"Yeah."  
"Well, it's the thought that counts."  
There was a long silence when Hannie jumped up.   
"Oh my God, I better get home. I forgot that I have to help Mom with re-painting the rec room."  
  
On the way out of the mall, I spotted Bobby Gianelli.   
"Uh, Hannie, I'll see you later." She nodded her head and disappeared outside. I walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and smiled slightly.  
"Hey Karen."  
"Hey."  
"What brings you here?"  
"Shopping with Hannie."  
"How fun," he sarcastically replied.  
"Tons. How about you? What brings you here?"   
Bobby shrugged. "You know, I have nothing better to do."  
Actually, I didn't know, but I didn't say it. He spoke up.  
"Well, I better get back home. My mom'll probably have a chore for me to do."   
"Later," I said. And with that, he walked away, wallet chain rattling and all. It was a matter of seconds when his spiked head wasn't visible anymore.  
  
***  
  
I could've called Mom or Seth on a payphone for a ride, but I decided to spare the quarter and get home by foot. My feet didn't even get sore since I was so used to walking a lot. I entered our neighborhood, the little house neighborhood, and unlocked the door with a spare key.   
  
Little house neighborhood? Well girls and boys, years ago my mom and dad got a divorce. Ever since then my little brother Andrew and I have been going back and forth. My mom and my stepfather Seth live in a little house with Rocky, a cat, and Midgie, a dog. My dad and my stepmother Elizabeth live in a mansion, or "the big house". The big house used to be brooding with kids, but three have gone to college. Sometimes I missed Charlie, Sam, and Kristy, especially Kristy. Now the only kids left were David Michael, my stepbrother, and Emily Michelle, my adopted sister. Oh, and can't forget Nannie, my stepgrandmother, Shannon, David Michael's dog, and Boo Boo, Dad's old cat.   
  
Anyway, I came in to find Mom sitting on her armchair reading some Patricia Cornwell novel. She looked like she was ready to tear up. She looked up and murmured a hello.  
"Must be a real page turner."  
"Oh, I'm sorry dear." She placed the novel on the coffee table. "How was the mall?"  
"Nothing new, just Hannie buying some clothes for school."  
"Did you buy anything?" I nodded and pulled out a copy of Jane Eyre. She looked as if I had just pulled out a dead hamster.  
"Isn't that a little...mature for you?" I laughed in my head. Most mothers would've been impressed with their child's advanced taste in classic literature, but not my mom. She probably wanted to force-feed me Patricia Cornwell in large doses.   
"I'm sorry, would you rather have me buy Sweet Valley High?"  
"Karen," she said sternly.   
"Mom," I said just as sternly.  
I sensed some tension between us and continued up to my room. Don't get me wrong, I respect and love my mom, but sometimes I wish she would keep her head in her novels and let me be. When I started wearing black blazers, skirts, combat boots, and thriftshop ties, my mom looked as if she wanted to shove a Delia*s catalog down my throat. I overheard her and her best friend Pam talking about me once.  
  
Pam: Karen has a unique style.  
Mom: Yes, it's been going on since fifth grade. Wacky, isn't it?  
Pam: Lisa, if it were my Felicia, I'd take some action.  
  
Felicia's her daughter, fifteen or sixteen I think. She's not very bright. She thinks J.D. Salinger is a brand of paint.   
  
Mom: Action?   
Pam: Drastic change in dress can lead to bad things.  
Mom: Don't be silly, Pam!  
  
Her defence didn't sound very convincing though. After that she tried buying me pink monogrammed blouses and navy blue pleated skirts. What do I look like? Laverne?   
  
I set Jane Eyre on my bureau and turned on the old computer Seth gave me for my twelth birthday. I opened up Outlook Express and decided to e-mail my faraway friends, Amanda Delaney and Druscilla Porter. Amanda used to live in my dad's neighborhood. One of my friends, Melody Korman, lives there now. She's kind of arrogant and selfish, but she can be nice when she wants to. Hannie hates her. Druscilla's my next door neighbor, Mrs. Porter's granddaughter. I used to think they were witches. I even had a witch name for Mrs. Porter: Morbidda Destiny. I guess I was a bit impressionable as a child. My first e-mail was for Amanda.  
  
To: AmandaGurl135@attbi.com  
From: 1stMusketeer@attbi.com  
  
Hey Amanda,  
  
How are you? I'm doing fine. I just got home from the mall. Things have been pretty boring around Stoneybrook lately. I'm starting eighth grade soon. I don't know how I really feel about it. What about you? Are you excited for ninth grade?   
  
-Karen  
  
I pressed send. After that I opened up a new e-mail.   
  
To: Druscilla889@attbi.com  
From: 1stMusketeer@attbi.com  
  
Hey Druscilla,  
  
I went on and typed up pretty much the same thing I did for Amanda. I took off my glasses and cleaned them with my skirt. They were a big improvement on my old pink and blue glasses. Now they were fifties-esque black frames: one for all the time and one for reading. I put them back on and refreshed my mailbox. There was a new one from Anon909.   
  
"Bobby," I mouthed.  
  
***  
I hope that didn't suck too much. Well, review if you like. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own The Baby-Sitter's Club or Baby-Sitter's Little Sister.  
  
***  
  
Summary: Karen is now in eighth grade. Everything is rapidly changing around her...will she survive?  
  
***  
  
I was about to click on the message when the doorbell rang. If I was younger I would jump up and yell "I'll get it!" I still did the same thing, except there was no jumping nor screaming. I opened the door to see Nancy Dawes, my other best friend. Her fiery red hair was pulled back with a blue scrunchy. Sometimes I wondered how Nancy, even with her frizzy hair and freckles, managed to look pretty decent without trying while I had to actually make an effort.   
"Hi Karen," she said, bubbly as ever.  
"Hey Nance," I said, not bubbly as ever. It was difficult to match Nancy's eternal optimism.  
"Want to come over?"  
"Sure."  
I yelled my farewell over my shoulder and closed the door behind me.  
  
The Dawes' house was the Olive Garden of Stoneybrook. When you're there, you're family. Mrs. Dawes supplied you with delectable cookies and fresh lemonade. Mr. Dawes had a pleasant smile and always had some time to chew the fat. And Daniel wasn't an annoyance like Andrew was. You didn't see him barging into your bedroom unannounced demanding a missing Yu-Gi-Oh! card. We passed Mrs. Dawes reading something in the den. I couldn't imagine her reading Patricia Cornwell. Maybe Reader's Digest or even the occasional Sue Grafton, but not ol' Patricia. We entered Nancy's boudoir. Small, but homey.   
"Um, Karen, are you okay?"  
"What? Huh?"  
"You seem, I dunno, distracted."   
I flopped on her bed. Mrs. Dawes actually made her bedspread. I tried to imagine Mom making me a bedspread. I couldn't help but laugh.   
"What's so funny?"  
"Uh, erm, nothing. Really."  
"Well, okay."  
She turned on her television and began playing on her Playstation 2. I averted my eyes from the Final Fantasy game to her desk. I spotted a folded piece of paper with "Chris" written on it with sparkly green gel pen. I looked at the back of Nancy's head and tested the waters to make sure she wasn't paying any attention to the background. Good, she was zombified. I crept towards the desk and carefully unfolded the piece of lined paper.   
  
Dear Chris,   
  
I have something to tell you. I don't know how to say this, but, I like you.  
  
My eyes widened. Could she be talking about Chris Lamar? The guy who always wore his shirts half-tucked in? I looked back at Nancy who was battling and muttering expletives as she did so. I read on.  
  
I know it sounds kind of weird, but I've liked you for a long time. Since 3rd grade.  
  
Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ. It felt wrong to be invading Nance's privacy like this, but I was immediately enthralled. I had never thought that Nancy actually like liked somebody. It was all beginning to sound like an episode of some crappy teen drama/comedy show. The media's disgustingly insipid intrepretation of our generation. I was beginning to read the next sentence when the letter was snatched from my hands. Damn. Now that was disappointing.   
  
"Karen! What are you doing, snooping around my personal things!"  
"Sorry."   
Nancy folded the letter again and hid it in her jean pockets. She reminded me of those ladies on TV who just found out that their child had a terminal illness. She began to speak again.  
  
"No, I should've know better than to leave my notes out in the open."  
In a way, that hurt. There's nothing worse than to lose trust, even little by little. Nancy looked down and picked at her cuticles.   
  
"Really, it's my fault. Um...I promise that I didn't read anything after 'Since 3rd grade'."  
She stopped picking her cuticles and looked up.  
"You promise?"  
"Yes, I promise."  
"Good."  
I couldn't help but ask further questions. I was the cop and she was the convict.   
"You've really liked him since third grade?"  
Her freckled face flushed.  
"Yeah."  
"Why?"  
"He's nice, funny, understanding, thoughtful, generous, and even kind of cute."  
"When did you write the note?"  
"Last night. I-I...Think he likes me too."  
"How do you know?"  
"Well, he invites me to his house often to 'talk about strategies' and I think he tried to take a whiff of my hair once."  
  
***  
  
I combed my blonde hair. It was kind of like Margot's in The Royal Tenenbaums. Of course, mine didn't look as sleek and movie star-ish. As I placed the brush back in my side of the bathroom drawers, I realized something. Bobby's e-mail.  
  
I went to my bedroom and turned on the computer again. I hastily opened up the e-mail and read it.  
  
To: 1stMusketeer@attbi.com  
From: Anon909@attbi.com  
  
Hey Kare,   
  
I'm glad I ran into you at the mall today. Sorry we had such a short conversation, I didn't want to listen to Mom's yelling again. Listen, I just wanted to tell you something...Please don't tell this to Rick.   
  
I stared.  
  
I think I like you...more than a friend.  
  
-Bobby  
  
I stared blankly at the screen. I nearly went into a coma. For a message that started out as a friendly apology, who would think that it would end in a love...er...like confession.  
  
***  
Sorry it took so long, school you know. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own...Oh, you know the drill.  
  
***  
  
Summary: Karen is now in eighth grade. Everything is rapidly changing around her...will she survive?  
  
***  
  
I checked my free auto insurance pocket calendar. Friday. Going-To- Daddy's Friday. I packed the little possessions I needed. Shortly after packing the old fashioned camera I found in old Ben Brewer's bedroom, Mom called for Andrew and me. In a matter of minutes, she parked her car in front of Dad's mansion. It looked the same on the outside, but on the inside it was much different. Besides Elizabeth's dreaded Martha Stewart Interior-for-the-Inferior phase, the house seemed more half-empty than half- full if you catch my drift. As I walked upstairs and down the hallway, I caught a glimpse of Kristy's bedroom. I averted my eyes quickly and continued to my own room. I ignored my sudden pangs of missing her and threw my bag to the side. I realized that Elizabeth took the liberty to re- organize my stuffed animal collection. Surprise surprise. I heard a soft knock on my door. It was Dad.  
  
"Hi, Karen."  
  
"Hey, Dad."  
  
"Lunch will be ready in a few minutes."  
  
The weekend smorgasbord. What was fun when I was seven was now annoyingly unavoidable. I humored Dad by putting on a fake smile.  
  
"Sounds great."  
  
He pat me on the shoulder and returned downstairs. A couple seconds later, there was another knock. I'll give you three guesses.  
  
"Um, Karen, do you know where my..."  
  
"No. I don't, Andrew. Go Away."  
  
Little brothers are ruining our nation.  
  
"But Karen!" he whined, "you don't even know what I'm gonna ask!"  
  
"Oh, well, pardon me," I said half-sarcastically.  
  
"As I was saying," he continued, "do you know where my Harpie Lady Yu-Gi- Oh! card-"  
  
"Andrew, scram."  
  
"Fine," he replied. What a nuisance.  
  
***  
  
I ate my peanut butter and banana sandwich quietly. Dad cleared his throat and set down his glass of water.  
  
"So Karen, can't wait to go back to school?"  
  
I shrugged my shoulders.  
  
"I guess so."  
  
The doorbell rang. It was Hannie, much to Dad's chargin.  
  
"Don't you think you should finish your lunch?"  
  
I took one more bite of my sandwich and said my farewells. I met Hannie outside and we exchanged greetings.  
  
"Wanna go to the park?" she asked.  
  
"What's there?"  
  
"Scott, Rick, and Bobby."  
  
I pushed Bobby's e-mail to the furthermost corner of my brain.  
  
"Cool, let's go."  
  
As we walked to Stoneybrook Park, I spotted a dead dog. It had no  
  
collar.  
  
"Karen?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You know about the party at Leslie's?"  
  
"Leslie Morris?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Hannie, in case you haven't noticed, Leslie is one of Pamela's cronies."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Leslie Morris. Pamela Harding. Friend. Our Enemies."  
  
"Well, Leslie and I have been hanging out all summer, and..."  
  
I stopped in my tracks.  
  
"Hannie Papadakis, you have permanently lost your mind. Don't you remember what the Milky Ways have done to us?"  
  
"Oh Karen, quit being so immature. That was years ago."  
  
"More like months ago."  
  
"Whatever. The point is, it's all in the past."  
  
"I can't believe you."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Nevermind," I murmured.  
  
"Look Kare, going to that party can do wonders for our popularity."  
  
"Correction: your popularity."  
  
"Now I can't believe you."  
  
I raised an eyebrow.  
  
"How can you not care what they think of you? It matters Karen. I'm not going to be exiled to the Losers of America."  
  
"Traitor."  
  
"Traitor?! How am I a traitor?"  
  
"Don't you remember the Three Musketeers' motto? 'All for one and one for all'."  
  
"Quit being so childish! We were in second grade!"  
  
"It's the principle of the thing. The pact lives on, Hannie. Even when we're worm food."  
  
"What is your problem?"  
  
"I'm not the one with the problem."  
  
"Yes you are! First you start wearing all this black, then it's the weird music, and now it's your negative behavior! You don't even support your own friend!"  
  
"Maybe you'll find more support with Leslie."  
  
I turned my heel and walked the opposite way. I didn't feel like going home quite yet. I had lost Hannie. Not only that, but to the Milky Ways. The ones that have tormented the Three Musketeers since second grade. Pamela Harding, Jannie Gilbert, and Leslie Morris. Eye candy fashion fiends with nothing but frontal lobotomies and licenses to pilfer boyfriends and spread filthy rumors about our peers. There's a group of them in every school. They can be seen traveling in packs like llamas, applying fourteen layers of makeup, and denying any involvement with the outsiders. Add water and you have the Milky Ways.  
  
***  
  
Hey, sorry I took so long. I know this chapter's kind of crappy, but I'll do better in (hopefully) future chapters. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I still do not own anything Ann M. Martin owns.  
  
***  
  
Summary: Karen is now in eighth grade. Everything is rapidly changing around her...will she survive?  
  
***  
  
I sighed deeply. I'm in teenage angst mode as I sink into Ben Brewer's sheet-covered armchair. His old room has become another of my sanctuaries. It's quiet, peaceful, and there's nobody around to piss me off...at least, nobody alive. I had previously set up an old family dart board and placed a picture of Hannie on it, with her nose being the bullseye. Unfortunately, due to my horrendous aim I have only managed getting her left ear, right eye, and chin.   
  
"You're that mad, huh?"  
  
Startled by the voice, I looked behind me. David Michael.  
  
"Don't do that, dammit!"  
  
He backed away slowly, clearly mocking me.  
  
"Whoa there, calm down."  
  
I set the darts down at a nearby table while sticking my tongue out at him. Now that's killing two birds with one stone.  
  
"Who says I'm mad anyway?"  
  
"It's not everyday you use a best friend's picture for a game of darts and anger management."  
  
"You mean ex-best friend."  
  
"What did she do anyway?"  
  
"Like it's any of your business."  
  
Heh, wow, it was like we were seven again.  
  
"C'mon Karen, you can tell me."  
  
"If you must know, David Michael Thomas, she pulled a Benedict."  
  
"Just because she's been hanging out with that Leslie chick..."  
  
"Wait a sec, you knew?"  
  
"Of course! They've been hanging out at least three times a week for almost two months now."  
  
"Oh yay."  
  
"What's so bad about her anyway? I think she's kinda hot."  
  
"Pfft, you would."  
  
"I sense some jealousy here," he grinned.  
  
"What are you doing here anyway?"  
  
"Can't I talk with my stepsister?"  
  
"Not unless you want to be impaled with a dart."   
  
I held up a dart for emphasis. He fake-gasped.  
  
"Are you…threatening me?"  
  
"Cut it out David Michael. As you can see," I pointed to the defaced picture of Hannie with devil horns and a mustache that would put Snidely Whiplash to shame, "I'm not in the mood for bullshit right now."  
  
"Come on Karen. I understand that you have renewed your subscription to The Monthlies,"  
  
Lethargy is a bitch when you want to kick your stepbrother's ass.  
  
"But you can tell me stuff, huh?" He nudged my arm.  
  
"If I tell you, will you go away?"  
  
"Can't guarantee that."  
  
"Quit being a smart-ass." I took a deep breath. This was all too pathetic.   
  
"Hannie has went to the Dark Side, namely Pamela Harding's gaggle of mentally-deprived Barbie and Friends."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"What that means, dear stepbrother, is that she's abandoning Nancy, me, and everyone else for the Narcissists of America."  
  
"She belongs with them, y'know?"  
  
"No, she belongs with the Three Musketeers," I argued, barely believing it myself.  
  
"C'mon, don't you remember that time in second grade when she kicked you out of her "wedding" because of your…um…problems concerning appeareances?"  
  
I clenched my teeth. What a wonderful childhood memory to have brought back up to the surface of teenage adolescence.   
  
"Just say it, David Michael."  
  
After all; missing front teeth, dorky glasses, and that hideous haircut courtesy of Gloriana (I wonder whatever happened to her) barely qualified as attractive.  
  
"I guess what I'm saying is is that, well, Hannie isn't worth it, Karen."  
  
I felt my anger rising.  
  
"Get out, David Michael! Out!"  
  
I rose from the chair and made like the Big Bad Wolf. David Michael looked taken aback. I took a plate from the mantel and smashed it against the ground. I crushed the remaining pieces with my combat boots, feeling the glass crack under my weight.   
  
***  
  
I know, it's been reeeeeeeeaaaaaalllllly long, heh. I'll try to update the story more now that I have more time. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I'm sure you are fully aware by now that I don't own anything Babysitter's Little Sister related.  
  
***  
  
Summary: Karen is now in eighth grade. Everything is rapidly changing around her...will she survive?  
  
***  
  
"Not on speaking terms, I presume," said Nancy, taking a swig of lemonade. She was unusually nonchalant.  
  
"Speaking terms? We're not even on /looking/ terms." I took an experimental sip of my lemonade. The overly-sweet taste massacres my taste buds. Elizabeth has a terrible habit of using too much sugar. I didn't pick up the Dixie cup again.  
  
I looked at Hannie's house from the porch. It had an eerie feel of emptiness, yet it was so alive. I've had several urges to take David Michael's old baseball bat and smash the glaring windows. I told Nancy this.  
  
"Aren't you being dramatic? I mean, she's hanging out with Leslie, so what?" Nancy picked at her cuticles. She said it meanly, but I knew she didn't mean it. I could tell she was troubled.  
  
"Okay Nancy; who, what, when, where, why, and how?"  
  
She stopped picking at her cuticles. She opened her mouth to say something.something inaudible.  
  
"What?" I asked. I was probably a bit irritable.  
  
She turned towards me, seeming to look through me.  
  
"He rejected me, Karen! I'm a reject!" Nancy bit her lip and turned away.  
  
I must've looked dumbfounded, because she continued.  
  
"Chris. He rejected me. He doesn't like me." She mumbled.  
  
I felt weird. It was like, I should be comforting her, yet I couldn't bring myself to.  
  
"Um.why?"  
  
"He likes someone else."  
  
She was making little sense at that point.  
  
"Who?"  
  
After a small pause, she answered.  
  
"Audrey Green."  
  
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Audrey Green was one of those desperate phonies, the kind who who need to be seen with a group or suffer from exile. She was a leech, the same girl who wanted to be my clone in second grade. To be honest, she was pretty creepy. Nancy must've heard my silent giggle.  
  
"What's so funny? Is this funny to you?"  
  
"No, no, I was just thinking.Look, Nancy, if Chris is dumb enough to go for some crazy tomato like Audrey, then it's best you forget him. Really."  
  
Nancy became red in the face. Her red hair contrasted.  
  
"That's easy for you to say, you have Rick."  
  
I suddenly became confused. What does that have to do with anything?  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me. You have Rick. It's easy for you to say because you have a boyfriend. You don't have to worry about rejection."  
  
"You'll get a boyfriend.soon."  
  
"Soon? Soon isn't good enough Karen."  
  
Before I had a chance to open my mouth, she began a fierce tirade.  
  
"Not once in my life has a guy even dropped a hint that he liked me, so I thought I had a chance with Chris. Well, when I gave him that note I slaved over for, what, a week, he looked at me like my brain had just oozed out of my nose! An-and then he broke it to me oh-so-gently!-  
  
She distorted her face in a mocking expression and mimicked Chris.  
  
"Well, geeeee Nancy, you're a great girl and everything, but I already like someone else!"  
  
Then she rose from the porch chair and started doing a saunter that was remarkably similar to Audrey's.  
  
"Audreeey Greeen!"  
  
She sat down, looking starkraven mad. It was pretty scary considering she was usually level-headed. I looked back at Hannie's house. I tried to imagine Hannie and Leslie gossiping over toe-nail painting, probably with some stupid color called "Funkalicious Booty Pink" or "Like Totally Awesome Razzle Dazzle Funky Monkey Red Sparkle". I shuddered.  
  
***  
  
I woke up to hear a tapping on my window. At first I figured it was part of my imagination, but I heard it again. I murmured expletives to myself and sleepily half-walked to my window. Bespectacled and adjusted, my eyes focused on the intruder. Ricky? I quietly opened my window.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" I whispered harshly. "You probably woke Andrew or Emily Michelle up!"  
  
Ricky looked somewhat taken aback. "Well, lovely to see you too. Aren't you gonna let me in?"  
  
I grunted and let Ricky into my bedroom. I sat on my bed, somewhat embarassed that he was seeing me like this. Worn nightgown, messy hair, and probably some sleep in my eyes. I looked over at my digital clock. It read 2:34 A.M. Ricky sits by me. He smelled faintly of cigarettes.  
  
"You know, if my dad knew you were here, he'd blow a capillary or, I dunno, a zillion!" I whispered again, kind of angry at the disturbance.  
  
"C'mon Kare, aren't you even a little glad to see me?"  
  
"It's not a matter of gladness."  
  
"Look, the reason I came is because, well.  
  
He paused momentarily.  
  
"I miss you."  
  
"You.what?"  
  
"I miss you. We never go out or anything anymore. You've become a hermit."  
  
"A.hermit?"  
  
"Yeah, Hannie said you got pissed for no reason and walked out on her the other day."  
  
"She said that, huh?"  
  
"Well, yeah, and Bobby got in a fight with Scott."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"He, Bobby, called Hannie a lying bitch, and Scott swung it at him."  
  
"Where were you when this event took place?"  
  
"I was lighting a smoke in the boy's bathroom."  
  
"Oh. Um.was it a bad fight?"  
  
"They were both pretty scratched up and had a couple of bruises, Bobby even got a shiner, but some guy came by and broke it up before it got real bad."  
  
He held me close to him. His warmth felt foreign.  
  
***  
  
Yeah, yeah, you're probably all "MAKE KAREN GO TO FRIGGIN' SCHOOL ALREADY!". Don't worry (you probably aren't), she'll be going to school next chapter. 


End file.
